


Learning the Hard Way

by robotfvckers



Series: What 500 Followers Hath Wrought [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, NSFW Art, Null Sector, Rape/Non-con Elements, Robot Sex, orb stuffing, robovag, valveplay, valveplug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-01 22:16:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotfvckers/pseuds/robotfvckers
Summary: Zenyatta tracks a lost signal.





	Learning the Hard Way

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: noncon, orbstuffing, Zenyatta has a valve but identifies as a man  
> Art by [Sea](https://robotfvckers.tumblr.com/tagged/sea%20art) and [Lacertae-dreamscape](http://lacertae-dreamscape.tumblr.com/)!

He activates from sleep mode.

His processes initialize in disorganized bursts, systems stalling for seconds longer than usual. When Zenyatta analyzes the disturbance, he packs as quickly as he can.

He stops only once, outside of Genji’s room, hand poised to knock. Precious seconds slip between his servos, and the something pulses like a heartbeat within him. He whispers an apology into the door and leaves in the dead of night.

Zenyatta sends Genji a message before going offline, keeping only that something connected: a signal, long lost, active once more. His student would understand.

* * *

He tugs his hooded cloak around him as he steps through the dark alleyways of King’s Row, processors matching memory to reality. Zenyatta has walked these steps twice before. The first time to save Mondatta from Null Sector; the last to honor his fallen brother when he was, again, too late to save him. The old pain bristles, nearly new in its intensity, with the confusing, familiar signal. His signal.

Mondatta’s signal, calling out to him. With every step, the signal grows stronger, and it’s not quite the Iris, not quite the bright harmony of the brother he remembers. The place is too familiar, Zenyatta thinks, and the signal is not the same.

Yet, it fills the hole Mondatta’s absence left, could be no other. The presence that was once his whole world.

His dread grows as he rounds the corner and spots a flash of purple. Slicers, his memory supplies, and null troopers. Eradicators. He steps forward, orbs glowing, but they make no move to attack. He walks amongst tens of null sector agents, each unmoving, allowing him to pass. Even without his signal, a new, painful weight in his chest, he could find Mondatta by the stream of motionless omnics.

Purple and orange and the dull bruise of the morning sky glow in his optics as he stands in front a poorly lit brick building. Genji would wake soon, walk to their meeting place to begin the day with meditation. The two OR14s that flank the door move not an inch as he steps inside.

* * *

The signal fades, and for one, terrifying instant, it’s gone. Mondatta’s soul extinguished, tearing at the old wound that never truly healed. Then the signal levels out, and his brother’s unmistakable nine-dot array materializes in the gloom.

“Zenyatta,” And it freezes him, the way his brother says it, identical to his old, softly accented timbre, but there is something empty in it.

“Brother.” Zenyatta whirs, harsher than he means. Then, softer. “What has happened to you?”

The lights of the room swell, and he sees his brother fully, seated in an ornate chair. His plating is all wrong, colored as a trooper, his array orange like a flame. Null sector agents stand at each door like statues. Above Mondatta’s head is the faceplate of an omnic model SER5, rent from its chassis. The dull chill of discord grips him.

Mondatta stands, graceful and poised, uncanny in his stillness.

“The Iris has granted me a second chance.” Mondatta says, stopping before Zenyatta, arms threaded in front of his waist, the motion so familiar it makes Zenyatta ache. “I was recovered by Null Sector after my assassination. They were to use me for their cause. Instead, I assumed control.”

His brother reaches for him, pulls his hood down to his shoulders. His fingers are clawed, Zenyatta realizes as they trace against the side of his faceplate. He shivers, shifts away.

“You did this?” Zenyatta shakes his head, array flickering. “The SER5...you slew them?”

Mondatta halts, hand poised in the space where Zenyatta stood seconds earlier. He senses rather than sees his coldness, something deep and discordant and wrong, emanating from his brother.

“I did what must be done. Better I their ruler than their puppet."

Zenyatta stares, processes racing.

“Null Sector changed you.” Zenyatta folds in on himself. “You are not the Mondatta I knew.”

“And you have not changed at all.” Mondatta intones. “You turned against doctrine and against me. I have always granted you too much freedom.”

Mondatta’s array flares bright like a star against an empty sky. He drowns in it; never did his brother seem so imposing, so formidable.

Dangerous.

Claws descend upon his chin, tight and cold.

“I let you leave once. I will not make the same mistake again.”

  
Art by [Sea](https://robotfvckers.tumblr.com/tagged/sea%20art)

* * *

“Such fond memories.” Mondatta says, summoning one of Zenyatta’s orbs to his hand. The others orbit his head in a serene line, the halo of a saint.

Zenyatta groans, but does little else. He can’t, not when Mondatta’s six arms, pure manifestations of discord, pin him in place with the weight of his failures, of every slight and sin he incurred against his former brother. Easily Mondatta had peeled him out of his clothes; his back bows in an obscene line, head forced into the cool metal of Mondatta’s chair. Mondatta’s physical servos traces his lower back, and Zenyatta remembers a lifetime ago that same touch, soft and warm. Now he chokes back a whine against it.

“This was the first one you made. Different from the others. Imperfect. You were a master, but not yet one in this.” Mondatta says, hands never stalling, slipping down the swell of his ass, between his thighs.

Zenyatta jerks but moves nowhere. He powers off his array, embarrassed, horrified. He feels himself pulse, drip onto that wandering servos, the same one that had not even touched him yet. He can feel his cock swell, but the latch is locked, and it aches, thick and heavy, inside him.

“Imperfect. Beautiful.”

Zenyatta’s synth shorts on a ragged gasp, Mondatta’s claw catching against his synthetic clit, pain dancing on the line of pleasure. It’s impossible not to remember how they used to do this long ago, in the light of the moon, surrounded by the distant call of prayer and the warm scent of incense, and his body rises to it and _yearns_.

It isn’t right. It isn’t Mondatta touching him. Yet he whimpers as Mondatta strokes, fluttery soft and teasing, against his folds, just skirting his swollen teal nub, and Zenyatta is thankful that he cannot rock into the touch, embarrass himself further with his unwilling eagerness.

The teasing goes on forever, Zenyatta’s processors too razed to record the elapsing time, how long he has balanced on knife’s edge in Mondatta’s lap, held and played like an instrument. All he knows is his core pounds, body primed for more, needing more than Mondatta has given him. Slick coats his thighs, sloppy and obscene when Mondatta slips his servos through it, so silken and hot Zenyatta would collapse without discordant hands upon him.

The claws recede, and Zenyatta is torn between relief and torturous, bubbling disappointment. He has no time to decide which; a cold smoothness balances heavy against his valve.

“Brother.” Zenyatta whispers, glitched and hard, mortified.

“Ssh. I will take care of you. Haven’t I always?”

Zenyatta’s struggles intensify. The metal quickly warms as Mondatta grinds it against him, the small ridges catching against sensitive nodes, slipping up to bump his clit until it wettens with slick. Finally, it returns, lower, lower, catching against his opening.

“ _Mondatta._ ” Zenyatta keens, nearly a sob, balanced on a dangerous line. The pressure grows, and he clenches against it, fights it, even as the pleasure builds and the metal shifts against him.

“The first step is always the hardest.”

Mondatta pushes.

The orb slides in with a wet gush, but the sound is lost beneath Zenyatta’s cry. His valve spasms; it’s too large to force out, he’s too full, cannot adjust fast enough to match Mondatta’s insistent press. It goes so deep, pulses with energy; his insides buzz and burn molten with the feeling. Mondatta twirls his finger, and it _roll_ s inside him, catching against unknown, hidden sensors. Zenyatta screams, fluttery and broken.

It hurts.

He’s so _close_.

Close to something he hasn’t felt in decades. A discordant hand catches against his faceplate, stroking him like a lover, and it centers him for a moment, panic ebbing.

“That’s it. You were always so good at this.”

Just when he recedes from pure panic, wires and nodes and valve clenching and near bursting with energy, the telltale press of another orb grinds against his entrance.

The second is too much, and Zenyatta overloads, valve splattering slick in a thick rush, and it’s Mondatta’s power keeping the orbs inside him, vibrating them, and he sobs through it, body trembling and helpless, the rush of it forcing discord from his processors for a few blissful moments. He remembers laying with Mondatta so long ago, happy and safe. Everything glows gold and bright.

Then it fades, purple overshadowing all, the fire of Mondatta’s array reflecting off the chair and into his own, the orbs still moving, aftershocks rocking through him in dull, sweet aches. A third orb slips in with little resistance.

Mondatta hums, but Zenyatta can’t hear it over his own synth, crackling and sputtering.

“Please, b-brother, _pleasepleasepleaseplease_ —”

And as Mondatta feeds his brother orb after orb, watching his small waist swell and tremble with the tools of mastery they crafted together years before, he feels something like affection for the omnic trembling and needy in his arms.

This is how it always should have been.

  
Art by [lacertae-dreamscape](http://lacertae-dreamscape.tumblr.com/post/163029651327/commissioned-by-robotfvckers-for-their-strawpoll)


End file.
